by Dan Moren
“How we doing, kid?” came Tapper’s voice from the door behind him.
Eli glanced over his shoulder. “You know,” he pointed out, “technically, I outrank you. Also, I’m twenty-seven years old.”
The older man let out a rueful chuckle. “Sorry, kid.” He leaned over the back of one of the other seats. “Good work out there, lieutenant. Commander Taylor says you were a big help.”
Flushing slightly, Eli scratched at one of his ears. “Just trying to do my part for the team.”
Tapper’s eyes glinted. “From what the captain says, you put a lot on the line.” He inclined his head towards the open plain at the foot of the mountain. “He said he’d never seen flying like that – well, not in so many words, but I could tell he was impressed.”
“Thanks.”
Tapper reached over and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “Just don’t tell him I told you that.”
Eli laughed and turned back to the console. “Course not.”
“We about ready to go?”
“Yep. I can call in takeoff clearance whenever the captain gets back. Speaking of which, where’d he go anyway?”
“I’d guess he was trying to go extract Page from the Corporation. He’s got a bit of a thing, the captain does, about leaving people behind.”
Eli raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t seen Page since before the general had briefed them back on Nova. Apparently he’d been here the whole time? He shook his head to himself. Spy work. Not sure I’ll ever get used to it.
As if summoned by their thoughts, the doors at the end of the landing platform slid open and Kovalic strode in, heading for the ship. He was alone; the doors slid closed behind him, and at no point did he look back or hesitate in the slightest.
Eli frowned slightly as Kovalic disappeared up into the ship. A minute later, he heard the captain’s boots clicking on the deck behind him.
“You have clearance yet?” His voice was rough, clipped.
“Not yet,” said Eli, turning to face him. The captain’s face was ruddy, as though he’d walked a few miles on a cold winter morning. His gray jacket hung open. “We were waiting on you.”
Kovalic nodded, his mouth set in a hard line. “Call it in. Let’s go.”
Eli exchanged a glance with Tapper, who shook his head slightly. Kovalic turned on his heel to leave.
“What about Page?” The words were out of Eli’s mouth before he even realized he was saying them. He blinked and cleared his throat. “Uh. I just heard he was coming back with us?”
Turning, Kovalic fixed a hard look on Tapper, who was staring off into space with a studied expression of innocence. His eyes went to Eli. “Page is… not coming.”
“We’re leaving him?” Eli said. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“I’m done with twenty questions, lieutenant,” said Kovalic quietly. “Call in liftoff clearance and let’s go.” As he spun to go, the tail of his jacket whipped around and Eli caught a glimpse of something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. At least he’d apparently mastered the impulse that had prompted him to ask insistent questions. Instead, he just turned back around to the console and opened a frequency.
“Bayern Control, this is Nova-bound three-seven-four, requesting clearance for takeoff from platform C-eight-five.”
Eli stared bleakly out of the viewport in front of him as he waited for the response to come back. He couldn’t shake the image that had just been seared into his mind. Not that he had any rational reason for his conclusions, but deep in the pit of his stomach there was an unsettled mass that, for the first time in a long while, had nothing to do with the flight ahead of him.
The events of the past few days ran through his mind, like a vid on rewind, all the way back from his captivity to the party to Bayern to Nova to the moment that the general had handed over that tablet, offering him a commission. That decision, irrevocable as it was, had led him all the way to this point, to the image that was still stuck in his mind as he automatically acknowledged the clearance from Bayern Control and fired up the ship’s engine.
Eli had gotten a glimpse under Kovalic’s jacket as the captain had turned to leave – specifically, at the shoulder holster tucked under his arm.
And it had been empty.
After everything that happened over the last few days, Eli was convinced more than ever that he could do this job. He hadn’t let the team down; he’d helped save Erich and avoid the Illyrican invasion of Bayern. He’d found a place that he belonged, and something that, against all odds, he was good at. But that missing gun couldn’t help but nag at the one part of his brain posing the more difficult question.
What exactly have I gotten myself into?
Interlude
Alexandria, Illyrica – December 6, 2411
The snow fell in clumps, illuminated in the harsh blue-white of the streetlight, beneath whose glow it seemed to slow down like an old, flickering movie. From his spot in the shadows, the lieutenant snugged his scarf tighter around his neck, then briskly rubbed his hands together. He should have checked the weather report this morning, but it was too late to go back for his warmer parka now.
Nobody had entered or left the modest two-story house across the street for the hour and a half he’d been watching it, but a yellow lamp still burned in the upstairs, leftmost window. As arranged. Aside from the lieutenant, the street – a tree-lined boulevard in a nice section of town, where the houses were few and far between – was empty.
He glanced at his sleeve, watching as the numbers ticked over to 22:00 local time. Looking both ways, he jammed his hands in his pockets, ducked his head, and crunched through the mounting snowdrift towards the house.
The back door was unlocked – this too had been prearranged – and he let himself in, opening the door slowly to avoid any creaking. With equal stealth, he closed it behind him, then stood for a moment to acclimate himself to the sounds of the house.
Which were few. Aside from the distant humming of a furnace, and the occasional burr of kitchen appliances, there was a steady drip-drip that he thought might be from a faucet, until he realized that it was the snow melting off his coat and falling to the hardwood floor. Belatedly, he brushed at the moisture on his chest and sleeves.
He dutifully wiped his feet on the mat, again more to ensure a lack of noise than out of courtesy. Satisfied, he made his way through the back hallway towards the stairs, carefully climbing them to the second floor.
Of the many doors off the upstairs corridor, only one showed any signs of life – it was ajar and the yellow light he’d seen in the window spilled into the hallway. The thick runner under his feet absorbed his footfalls as he made his way to the doorway.
Whether from the lieutenant’s lack of care or insufficiently-oiled hinges, this door did squeak when he opened it. The noise was loud against the silence, but he pushed through anyway. It was too late for regrets.
The room beyond was warmly lit from the one lamp, though the edges of the room remained shadowed. An old-fashioned roll-top desk sat in one corner, across from a more modern, practical desk with a computer console on it. Nestled in the shadows were a pair of low bookcases, filled with volumes whose titles the lieutenant couldn’t make out in the dim light; atop them were a series of framed pictures.
All this he absorbed in a second, even as his attention focused on the one thing in the room that actually mattered. Beneath the single light was a high-backed leather armchair in which sat a lean older man with a faded bronze complexion, a fringe of white hair, and a carefully trimmed, equally white mustache and vandyke beard. He appeared to be engrossed in a book held open in his lap, but as the lieutenant stepped into the room and into the light, the old man looked up and fixed his visitor with an unnerving blue-eyed stare.
The lieutenant stopped short, suddenly all too conscious of the bass-thump of his own heart.
“Not who you were expecting?” said the man, smiling slightly.
It took a few seconds for
the lieutenant’s brain to catch up with his situation. “Pardon me. I was looking for–”
“You were looking for Commander McCrae,” said the man in that same mild tone. “I’m afraid you won’t find him here.”
The lieutenant tensed, eyes flicking around the room, expecting heavily armed thugs to emerge from every shadow.
“Or, well, anywhere,” the man added belatedly, closing his book around a finger to mark his place. “You see Commander McCrae doesn’t exist.”
Still cautious, the lieutenant’s eyes darted back to the man in the chair. “Doesn’t exist? That’s impossible.”
“Impossible? Dear me, no. Very, very difficult? Yes.”
“But…”
“I know. You’ve read the man’s personnel records. You’ve seen pictures and video of him. You’ve even exchanged covert communications in which the commander spoke of his intention to defect.”
The lieutenant swallowed thickly. “All faked?”
The old man inclined his head. “Indeed.”
“And you are?”
There was a noise from the man, a half-chuckle that eased into a wistful sigh. “I suppose I should be gratified that my efforts to remain incognito have been so successful, but I do admit that from time to time I miss the instant notoriety.” He drew himself up somewhat straighter in his chair. “Hasan al-Adaj, third marquis of the House al-Adaj.”
The lieutenant would have been less surprised if a trap door had suddenly opened beneath his feet. “You’re Hasan al-Adaj. The Hasan al-Adaj. Director of the Imperial Intelligence Service Hasan al-Adaj.”
The man spread his hands, as if to say “what can you do?”
The lieutenant rubbed his temples between thumb and forefinger. This was going to be one hell of a report. If he ever got the chance to write it.
“This really isn’t where I saw my day ending when I got up this morning,” he muttered.
“Apologies for that, Lieutenant Kovalic.”
Of course, the surprises wouldn’t stop there. “You know who I am?” he said, even as he realized how stupid a question it was.
“As you said, I’m the director of the Imperial Intelligence Service,” said Adaj gently. “So, yes, when the Commonwealth embassy on Illyrica brings on a new military attaché, particularly one whose record indicates that he was a distinguished special forces operator before joining the Marine Intelligence Group – congratulations, by the way, on your commission – well, that has a way of coming to my attention.”
The lieutenant resisted the urge to tug at his collar. “This whole charade with McCrae, then… this was all for my benefit?”
“More or less. As far as IIS is concerned, the intent was to insert a double agent into the Commonwealth who, once establishing his bona fides, would provide you with strategic disinformation.”
During the conversation, the lieutenant’s brain had already begun to spin up escape options, but at this he blinked. “Uh, doesn’t telling me that kind of undermine your entire plan?”
A faint smile touched Adaj’s lips. “It would seem to, wouldn’t it?”
The lieutenant looked around. “So, this is a trap.”
“No, no,” said the man, shaking his head. “Quite the opposite. This is a job interview.”
Half-convinced by now that he had at some point this evening been dosed with a hallucinogenic substance, the lieutenant didn’t see any downside to laughing. “You want me to come work for you?”
It was Adaj’s turn to laugh. “Having read your jacket, that would be ridiculous,” he agreed. “But, no, you misunderstand.” His blue eyes locked on the lieutenant’s. “I want to come work for you.”
He wasn’t sure exactly when the room had started spinning, but it was moving at a pretty good clip by now. The lieutenant leaned back against the wall and took a deep, calming breath. He still hadn’t entirely ruled out the hallucinogen theory, but sure, what the hell, why not go with it?
“You want to defect?”
A troubled look crossed the man’s face. “Let’s say rather that I think it would be mutually beneficial for us to work together towards a common goal.”
“OK, sure. And that goal is?”
“What all old men want: peace.”
The lieutenant knew he was staring at the old man, but he couldn’t quite stop himself. “I’m sorry, it’s very hot in here. Could I have some water? You know what, never mind the water – do you have any bourbon?”
With an amiable smile, Adaj picked up the black lacquered stick that was leaning against the wall near his chair, and levered himself to his feet. To the lieutenant’s surprise, the sound that accompanied the movement wasn’t the creak of arthritic joints, but rather the high-pitched whine of motors.
The old man caught his look, then nodded to his legs. “I lost them both many years ago, during another conflict.”
If he ever got out of here, the Commonwealth’s file on Hasan al-Adaj was going to be about ninety percent thicker. Which wasn’t hard, because pretty much all it had right now was his name and his job title. The lieutenant cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”
Adaj shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I’ve grown used to it.” He snorted suddenly. “No, that’s a lie – merely what one says to people. Like saying ‘Fine, thank you’ when someone asks how you are, because you know they don’t really care.” He crossed to the roll-top desk and opened it, yielding a surprisingly well-stocked bar.
The lieutenant exhaled through his nose. “Or when someone asks you about what it was like to fight in the war.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed and met the lieutenant’s, and he nodded. “Just so.” He removed the stopper from a crystal decanter and poured the amber liquid into two tumblers.
Realizing the man wouldn’t be able to carry both tumblers with his cane, the lieutenant pushed himself off the wall and crossed to the bar. Adaj smiled, nodding his thanks, and handed him one of the glasses. Taking the other for himself, he raised it in toast to the lieutenant, then took a sip.
The lieutenant cradled his in between his hands, not so much worried that the drink might be poisoned – though the thought did cross his mind – but more in contemplation. “You didn’t tell me why you want to leave.”
Adaj smiled again. “No, I didn’t.” He sighed and looked down at his glass. “I love my empire, Lieutenant Kovalic. Too much perhaps. In recent years, I’ve found myself dismayed by the direction it seems to be taking. As the emperor grows older, other voices have begun to sway him more – voices that whisper of conquest, and yet more destruction and bloodshed.” He shook his head. “I love my empire,” he repeated, raising his eyes again, “but not what it has become.”
“What are you offering?”
Adaj took another sip. “Ah, the negotiation. On a short-term basis, I can offer you what current intelligence I possess. But that may quickly go out of date, especially after my– ,” his breath caught slightly, “–defection is known.”
The lieutenant nodded. “Can you provide me any information now? As a good faith gesture?”
There was a faint rat-a-tat as the old man’s fingers drummed on the outside of his glass. “I can tell you that the Imperium is, right now, massing its Fifth Fleet to invade an independent world. But–,” he said, raising his glass in warning, “–I suspect that by this stage, any warning will come too late.”
The instinct to immediately call in this intel was overpowering, but the lieutenant steeled himself. “That’s valuable information, indeed. But, as you said, your current operational intelligence will run dry once they know it’s compromised. What about on a longer term?”
Adaj sighed, but nodded as if he had expected the question. “Understand, I will not turn over any information that will lead to the harming of IIS operatives, covert or otherwise. That condition is non-negotiable. But I can offer much more: strategic insight into how the Imperium operates and the manner of its thinking at the highest levels.”
The lieutenant glanced down
at his glass, watching the bourbon slosh against the sides, then back up. “Well, in the spirit of honesty and forthrightness: why should we trust you?”
Raising his own glass, Adaj tipped his head. “That is the exactly the question you should ask. I realize it would be far easier to believe – and more predictable – if I said I wanted you to install me as the new leader of the Imperium, or asked for huge sums of money. But I picked you for a reason, lieutenant. Because I knew you would understand what it means to have one’s home taken away from him.”
His hand tightened around the glass. “Except you were the ones who took away my home.”
“Yes. We were.”
The lieutenant forced himself to relax his grip. This wasn’t about him, he reminded himself.
Adaj continued. “But what if I told you, Simon – may I call you Simon? – that I could help us both get our homes back?”
Chapter 24
“Simon?”
Kovalic blinked and shook his head. “Sorry, sir. What?”
The general eyed him. “Where were you?”
With a self-conscious laugh, Kovalic scratched his head. “I was just recalling our first conversation.”
Leaning back in the chair from behind his desk, the general folded his hands and smiled. “Almost six years ago. Most days it seems longer.”
“Yes, sir. It does.” He cocked his head. “I’m sorry, where was I?”
“You were just concluding your report about the Bayern incident.”
“Right.” He glanced around the office – yet another of the general’s rotating assortment. This one was cozier than most, and reminded him a bit of that first room in the house on Illyrica. Whose house had that been? He realized he’d never bothered to find out; there had, after all, been more pressing matters to attend to.
“I think Colonel Frayn will ensure that Prince Hadrian lives up to his end of the deal. And we still have Commander von Denffer as leverage, though I think any evidence he could give would likely be tempered by the fact that he tried to kill the prince.”
